Pain
by SassyJ
Summary: Joss Carter's moral compass had guided her down unwise paths before. Now she's in deep trouble and John right along with her. Joss needs to know that John's alright. **UPDATE** Reese and Carter get together, but there are more problems for Reese.
1. Chapter 1

She tried to move on her chair, free her arms, anything. It was impossible, she was trapped on that chair, her fate at best uncertain. She wondered with a small sob when she would learn to follow instinct and not protocol or the law.

Her touching faith in law and doing the right thing, her moral compass as John termed it, was a mistake.

A mistake that had already got John shot and critically injured once before.

Now her naivety had gotten them both captured.

Joss clenched her teeth together in agony. This time was far worse. They were going to torture him in front of her. She knew it wasn't really for answers, they just wanted to demonstrate their power.

He was sitting in front of her, bound to the high backed chair, his wrists twisting as he tried to fight his bonds. But she knew it was useless.

She had no idea how Elias had found out, about Kohl and the needles, and the torture, but some how he had.

Now she was going to watch John suffer.

A hand fisted her hair, pulling her head back. "Just a little reminder. Close your eyes, look away, and we start all over again." The hand released her head, and through the blur of her tears Joss concentrated on John.

He had fought hard and bravely, a good soldier to the last, but there were too many of them and they had the drop on Joss. He'd surrendered to save her.

She stared into his eyes, willing him to understand, to hang on because surely help was coming. Knowing that he would suffer for her. He would die for her if needs be.

He was bound securely to the chair, his arms pinned at the wrist, just above the elbows and just below the shoulder, gagged with a knot of thick cloth shoved in his mouth and tied securely behind his head.

The blue-gray eyes stared into hers. Promised her that they would get through this, survive.

Elias' man started with the ulna nerve. So very precise, just as Kohl had done. She had only found out by accident what Kohl had done to John. But there was no knowing how Elias found that information.

She watched the man push the needle home through John's left elbow. It must have been agony, but John didn't scream. His jaw clenched tight as he bit down on the thick cloth in his mouth. She saw his eyes tear up, and she wanted to cry right then. As sick as she felt, she kept watching because they would only repeat the pain over and over again for every moment she looked away.

She wanted to gather him into her arms and hold him and promise him that no one would ever hurt him again.

They kept going, with each needle inserted into his body, Joss flinched. His blue-gray eyes were filled with tears, the black lashes clumped and spiky. Even now he was still trying to protect her, although he could no longer hold back the whimpers of agony at each fresh assault on his senses.

She knew help was coming, Finch would not fail them. He cared too deeply for John to let him be killed. Where she found the courage to hang on, not reveal the answers to the questions being thrown at her, she didn't know. But to give them the answers would seal her death warrant and John's.

His eyes were pleading with her for her silence, right up until the moment he passed out from the pain.

She didn't hear it at first. Then the door flew back with a loud clang, she couldn't turn her head, couldn't look away from John, she had no idea who rescued them. Someone cut her bonds, and Joss was on her knees in front of John. Her whole being consumed by him.

Hands freed him from the ropes holding him to the chair, and she gathered him gently close as someone pulled needles from his arm, shoulder, back and neck. She couldn't know about that, kept her eyes closed as she supported his limp body against hers, resting her forehead against his, she talked to him in a low tone. Nonsense words, promised him the moon and stars too if he would only wake up, tell her he was all right.

* * *

The vast easy chair was comfortable. But she couldn't worry about that. Just about John. Joss made arrangements for Taylor to stay over at her mother's, so that she could stay with John. She knew that Finch's seemingly inexhaustible supply of background helpers had brought John back to an apartment. That he was getting the best care, he had been thoroughly examined, cleaned up, treated for wounds, that sleep was what his exhausted, tortured body demanded. But the sum total of her knowledge was insufficient for her needs. So she remained, waiting for him to wake up. People came and went, but she couldn't worry about that.

He looked younger in sleep, the lines of pain softened and blurred and he looked very like the young soldier in the picture that was still burning a guilty hole in her heart. John before the CIA and covert operations and killings had torn his soul to rags.

Joss leant forward, taking his hand in both of hers, his skin was warm and that reassured her. She bent and gently drew his arm a little closer so that she could kiss his hand.

He moved, made a sexy little moan deep in his throat. Sleepy eyes opened, he blinked a few times, and she made an attempt to let go of his hand, confused by her own feelings.

Strong fingers gripped hers, and didn't let go.

"Hello." He whispered, his voice low and raspier than usual, a teasing look in his eyes that made her heart skip several beats.

"Hello, yourself." Joss fervently hoped that he wouldn't notice the tremor in her voice. He was too confident and sure of himself at the best of times.

Then she had just seen him endure almost unimaginable physical pain.

And he could have died. He would have died to save her.

It all became a little jumbled in her head, she wasn't even aware that she was crying, until a very strong pair of arms reached out and pulled her towards him.

She didn't just need to know that John was safe, it was reaffirming that she was safe too. They could shut out the world for a little longer. She shed her shoes and pants and crawled under the covers next to him.

He was bruised and sore, and he ached all over; his left arm more abused than the other, throbbed painfully, but holding Carter in his arms was worth the discomfort.

She spooned up close, the softness of silk beneath her cheek as she rested her head against his shoulder. Finch had great taste in pyjamas. The dark red silk looked good on John.

She would think about the rest of it tomorrow. Or some other time. Right then it was just her and John. And that was all that mattered.


	2. Chapter 2

Finch felt sick to his stomach when his bodyguards brought John back to the apartment. Reese was unconscious, clothing dirty and torn, marks of abuse on his body but it was the mute distress in his companion's eyes that set the seal on it.

Harold knew that his partner had been tortured. But there was knowing, and then there was the knowledge that came from incontrovertible evidence. The marks on John's body were evidence, but the seal on the pain that he must have been put through came from the look in Detective Jocelyn Carter's eyes.

Harold was no stranger to pain. He'd been living with intense physical pain and resulting emotional pain for over two years. Two years ago when he'd forced himself to give up the love of his life, he had sworn that he wouldn't feel like that for another human being.

Until a big ex-soldier had come into his life. Pulling this exhausted, battered, emotionally drained man back from the brink of alcoholism and an ignominious end served Harold's purpose. John Reese was an employee. Nothing more.

Then came the night that Detective Carter betrayed John to the CIA. John, cruelly gunned down by a sniper, had somehow managed to make it to the stairwell; then he'd contacted Finch, not for help but to thank the billionaire and say goodbye. _Dammit_, Harold Finch knew that whatever else happened he was not going to leave John Reese alone and dying. If it was physically possible, he was going to get there and save his friend. Nothing else mattered but John.

Now he was helping Dr Megan Tillman undress a battered and unresponsive John. He cut up the sleeve and peeled John's torn shirt back as Megan gently shifted John's weight a little more in Harold's direction. Finch found himself pressed close against his friend, Reese's weight almost full on Finch's damaged side. It hurt, but he bore it gladly. John had been hurt doing what he did best, trying to help people.

Finch just wished that Carter would finally get it into her head that not everyone on the force was there to protect and serve others. She had an alarming habit of trusting people where she shouldn't, and taking things at face value.

Harold stopped taking things at face value the day the towers came down. After that, nothing was ever exactly as it seemed.

He had guided the distressed woman to a chair, and made her comfortable. She had thanked him, but Harold was sure she barely knew where she was or who had helped her. Her entire focus was on John.

Harold couldn't blame her or fault her for that. He was supporting John's left side, marks on his neck, his shoulder, his elbow, the bruising almost jet black. Harold winced. That had to really hurt. There were several nasty deep cuts, which Dr Tillman was treating first. _Bathe, debride, stitch_, Harold knew the routine by now, at some point he had been meaning to get some pointers on how to stitch, in a pinch.

Reese was coming round, moving weakly and occasionally flinching as Megan slowly patched him up. Finally she pronounced herself satisfied, and helped Harold get the pyjama top on her dozing patient. As they eased him down on his back, his eyes flickered open.

Harold didn't miss John's sleepy _thank you_, nor the look he gave Dr Tillman. Megan blushed.

For an ungracious moment or two, Harold wished fervently that John would turn his attention to Megan and not Jocelyn Carter. Whatever he felt for her, and Harold could see why John felt the way he did about Carter, the woman was going to bring more pain and suffering down on John's head. Maybe even get him killed. Carter's moral compass may have been unwavering, but that just made her more vulnerable to people of evil intent.

He could admire Carter's tenacity and honesty. But this latest experience only served to highlight the risks to John's health and safety if he was going to walk blindly into situations where he had placed his entire trust in Carter.

Harold pulled the covers up and tucked them around his sleeping partner. Distressed to find that his hands were trembling. He had only really had one friend all his life, Nathan. Now there was John. Harold Finch found that he really didn't want to be alone again. Surprised, he pondered this development.

Then Jocelyn Carter leaned forward, gently taking John's hand between her own, she started to talk to him. She sounded broken.

Finch was torn between staying with John or leaving them together. He was uncomfortable with the emotion. Awkwardly he moved away.

He tried to occupy himself with work on the laptop, while keeping an eye on the exhausted patient and the detective who was falling apart by his side.

An hour later, he found them cuddled up together. That was John all over, regardless of his personal discomfort, he was offering Detective Carter comfort. Harold sighed. He would leave them a while longer, but then he would have to find some way to impress upon John that he really needed to allow his body more rest, and that they both needed to eat.

He lost track of time then, working away, looking up the things that Dr Tillman had warned him about, that might catch up with John in the first few hours. The knock at the door startled him.

"It's John. He's sick." She looked tired, sick and somewhat unfocused herself and Harold realized that whatever his personal feelings were about the detective, she really did care about Reese.

But he couldn't worry too much about that right then. John's temperature had gone up, and he was moving restlessly. Finch's fingers were dialing Megan's number before he even realized what he was doing.

Megan's instructions were simple, keep him quiet and try to bring his temperature down. Cold compresses on his forehead, trying to reduce the fever, patiently re-covering him when he kicked the covers off, trying to keep him from moving around too much. Finch and Carter working in harmony for John.

Finally Reese seemed to drift off into sleep, and Finch had a moment with his thoughts. He had held on to his resentment all this time, Carter hadn't really known about John and about what they were trying to do when she had 'betrayed' John to the CIA. She had helped Finch save John's life, regardless of her getting him shot in the first place.

Carter had slipped back into the chair by John's bed. Holding his hand. Willing him back to health. Finch moved to change the cold compress on John's forehead, allowed his fingers to rest a moment, she cared, as he did, he felt his resentment die. Detective Carter was a good person, important to the world, perhaps important to John's world, and Harold couldn't and wouldn't take that away from him.


	3. Chapter 3

She had needed to know that he was alright. But alright wasn't happening, Reese's temperature remained stubbornly elevated, he tossed and turned in the bed. He was getting worse.

After three hours Finch felt he had no choice but to bring Dr Tillman back in. John's left arm was swollen, hot to the touch and he was delirious.

The torture had torn her down, but the aftermath was breaking her in two. She had gotten him shot, but he'd survived, this time she had watched him being brutally tortured and now he was dying.

Everything she ever believed in was dissolving into ashes as his temperature soared and he grew weaker.

Dr Tillman arrived with antibiotics, and a drip. "I need to get the iv into him," and thus began the exhausting battle to calm John sufficiently so that Megan could raise a vein to site the iv needle.

He was sick and weak, but he was still considerably stronger than all three of them, he was delirious, hallucinating and terrified and like a hunted animal his instincts were to escape and evade. Finally, Megan sent them both out of the room.

His struggles were a lot weaker, finally she managed to raise a vein and get the iv needle in, he was still restless, plucking at the iv. She settled the drip and got it going. She had a solution to his restlessness, he wouldn't like it, but hopefully he wouldn't need the drip for long. With a sigh she reached into her bag for the splint, making sure that the iv wasn't fouled in anyway, she laid John's right forearm and hand on the splint and began to wrap. Making loops in the line so that he couldn't pull it out even by accident.

He didn't like it, the moment she laid his neatly wrapped limb down, his injured arm moved across to pluck at the wrappings. A worried frown crossed his features and he made a funny little sound in the back of his throat, half a whimper, half a growl. "John." She sat down next to him on the bed. He looked up at her through the haze of pain and fever and she saw a slow spark of recognition in his eyes.

"Megan?" His voice was barely audible, and there was a shakiness to it that told her he was on the edge of an emotional collapse.

He was not himself, in a scary place, and human contact was a luxury that he rarely achieved but really needed right then, so he just closed his eyes and leant against her.

Surprised, Megan put her arm around his back and rubbed gently. Feeling a tug at her heartstrings. She never became involved with her patients, but John wasn't just another patient. He had turned up at the darkest time in her life, had seen her at her very worst, and he'd saved her life. He'd known her soul, and prevented her from making a mistake which would have destroyed her. She owed him everything.

She was also woman enough to appreciate the tall, dark and handsome stranger that had come to her rescue, and shown her more compassion than most. Megan wasn't about to deny that the woman in her found John Reese fascinating.

It would be useless denying it, or the little skip to her soul when John leaned against her seeking comfort.

Detective Jocelyn Carter stood in the doorway and watched them. Watched Megan patch John up, watch him lean against the young woman and she offer him comfort. Feel the tentacles of jealousy wind around her heart with a strangle hold as John burrowed against her.

He was sick, he didn't really know what he was doing, _yes he did_ the little voice hissed in her ear. The doctor was young and pretty. Reese was sick, at his lowest ebb, in pain. Megan was taking away his pain. Joss had only brought pain to him. She would never forget the look in his eyes as Elias' thug pushed the first needle home through his elbow. Joss had nearly screamed for him.

There was an incontrovertible fact here. Jocelyn Carter might find John Reese enticing and fascinating and attractive, but she was also very bad for John's good health. This was the second time she had almost killed him. Whatever his bad boy credentials, John deserved more than to be shot at the hands of government agency thugs, or beaten up and tortured at the hands of organized crime murderers.

She turned to go. Better to leave John to someone who wouldn't get him hurt or killed.

There were times when Harold Finch despaired. John's inexplicable deep fondness for a woman who would only bring him physical pain and mental torment was tough enough, especially when John took unilateral decisions to protect her whatever the circumstances. But since Harold had no chance of curing John's quixotic desire to protect Joss even from herself, he had hoped that Jocelyn Carter would be more amenable to a solution to this problem. It seemed as though Joss had taken it into her head to protect John from herself.

Finch knew that John would put Carter first whatever the circumstances.

Reese's vision blurred as the medications started to take effect. "Joss" the last word on his lips as he passed out. Finch tried very hard not to think of the emotions that stirred when John called Joss' name. A wealth of love in that one word.

Hearing John call her name from the depths of his pain and illness thrilled Joss to her very soul. He loved her, maybe this was crazy and it had no future, but she couldn't turn her back on John.

Megan knew she had to go. As badly as she didn't want to leave John right then, she had work to do and a shift to attend to, there were other patients relying on her. She showed Harold how to change the bags, add medication to the feed, and gave him a schedule of medication for two days. Everything to take care of John's needs.

Ceding her place to the detective cost her a pang of what might have been; but Megan had heard the longing in John's voice as he called for someone who obviously meant the world to him.

Finch sighed. John was John, he made up his own stubborn mind about things and there was nothing that Harold Finch could do to stop him. Since he couldn't stop his friend straying into dangerous waters, Finch rather supposed it was his job to make sure that nothing happened to either John or Detective Carter.

Joss slipped into her seat at John's bedside. He had called for her, he knew it was her beside him, he had made his choice and silently Joss vowed to protect him. She took his hand, still hot and feverish, and settled in for the duration. She was there to stay.


	4. Chapter 4

Reese awoke to a stiff and sore left arm that he could barely move, and a pounding headache. Memories of the last day or two were hazy to say the least. That was the problem.

He was vaguely aware of calling out for Joss.

She was right there beside him, her slender, strong body molded to his. Sleeping next to him. Like she belonged.

That might be a big problem. He never meant to let his guard down that far. Let her see and know what she meant to him. It was all too raw and too private, bound up in the ghost of his dead love, and the memories of a thousand missions. And being with him put her at risk.

Carter was squashed up to his right side, and he had vague memories of Megan Tillmann being there too.

His head hurt.

He must have expressed that pain aloud, because a cool hand brushed his forehead for a second, the touch gentle and lingering for a second longer than just checking. That was concern. He processed the emotion, odd but fine, he was getting used to the idea that he had friends who cared about him. He opened his eyes.

"Mr Reese?"

"Finch." It took him three tries to get it out. His throat swollen and sore.

Hands reached out, helped him sit up a little, plumped pillows and put them behind him, a glass of water with a straw, held so that he could drink from it. Which was when he realized that his right arm and hand were splinted and coils of an iv line disappeared into the bandaging.

With a groan he tried to reach across with his sore left arm to try and free himself. The pain that lanced through his elbow made him gasp. "No, John, you need the fluids." Harold's hand laid very gently over his.

A confused frown crossed his face.

"What happened?"

Finch paused, "A couple of your wounds were infected, there must have been dirt in the gash on your elbow. Dr Tillman had to open the wound again, clean it out and re-treat it."

Reese glanced at his left arm, "which would account for the dressings." From bicep to mid forearm, his left elbow was a patchwork of dressings with a light bandage over the top.

He groaned miserably. He was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. "The numbers." He tried to sit up fully, Finch's surprisingly strong grip on his shoulder, and the sudden stabbing pain in his head preventing him.

"The numbers are being handled. You need rest. Do I really have to remind you that you are not twenty any more, or even thirty. You do not just bounce back, John."

As much as he really didn't want to admit it was true, Reese had to agree with Harold. He was not as young as he used to be. However fit he now was, his flirtation with alcoholism and living rough had taken their toll, his body was screaming for rest.

He let Harold plump pillows and get him settled in a different position. Easing back down with a sigh. His movements causing Joss to shift with a small grumble under her breath. Her arm slid across his body and she cuddled even closer.

He tried to ignore the little skip his heart gave. He wasn't in any kind of position to offer Jocelyn Carter what she needed, a stable, loving relationship. The best they would be able to manage would be a few stolen moments before fate took him from her.

Her hands were wrapped around his right bicep, one thumb gently stroking his skin. He didn't want to think about how nice that felt. Being touched like that meant everything. He didn't want to be an emotional sap about it, but it was too late, Joss Carter had kicked over his very carefully constructed defenses.

Reese closed his eyes. Perhaps sleep would help.

He woke again to lowered voices, drawn curtains and the aroma of cooking. Joss was gone, and he couldn't help the crippling kick of disappointment that she hadn't stayed, overlaid with a sense of relief which quickly vanished as the door opened and Joss appeared carrying a tray.

Appearing vulnerable in front of Joss was one thing, Reese glanced down at his arms, being fed like a toddler because both hands were not up to manipulating cutlery was something completely different.

Joss set the tray down and looked nervous, and Reese realized that she wasn't sure how he was going to take being looked after, which made him feel ashamed of the grumpy thoughts running through his head from a few seconds before.

"Can you help me?" he said a little gruffly, embarrassment at how much he had revealed of his feelings towards her, uncertainty as to what she really felt for him coloured his tone.

Joss sat on the bed. "Sure." He obviously remembered calling her name, but he didn't seem to be taking that too well. But since he could barely move his left arm and his right hand had the drip feed, he needed her to help him eat.

He really didn't like being fed, she could tell that by the way his eyes looked everywhere but directly at her, and the way he squirmed a couple of times, but he seemed more frustrated with himself than at her. Guessing that it would all be a little less stressful if she didn't try to engage him in conversation, Joss simply fed him in silence.

She wasn't talking to him. She was annoyed with him for being such an ungracious ass. She had slept by his side and comforted him through excruciating pain, and he was being ungrateful and even cruel to her. Now he felt even more ashamed.

When the bowl of soup was finished, she helped him drink the juice that Harold had provided and quietly removed the tray. As she reached the door, she had to turn back to open it, and caught the look on his face.

Shame and longing in his expression, and Joss' heart melted. Setting the tray down, she moved back to the bed. "Oh, John." Wealth of love and understanding in her voice. His shaky defenses collapsed as his right arm curved awkwardly around her and pulled her up against him.

The spirit was willing, sore arm, headache and all, but the crowning humilation that he had been trying to ignore since he woke up to lucidity put paid to any activity, as he haltingly attempted to explain.

"John, I know. We had to help hold you down while Megan…" She trailed off, confused as to how to complete that sentence.

He flushed bright pink at that piece of information. "Joss, you've seen me at my worst, would you possibly have dinner with me when this is all over?" He asked hopefully.

Her response made pain, infection, the pinch in his bladder and the coil of tubing meandering over his leg and down the side of the bed all worthwhile.

Finch discretely removed the tray and noted with relief that maybe Detective Carter was finally getting it. He wasn't personally comfortable with this strange relationship, but if it made John happy that was all that really mattered to Finch.

_This is insane_, thought Detective Jocelyn Carter happily as she concentrated on kissing the sexiest vigilante she had ever met… _but if this is madness, I never want to be sane again._


	5. Chapter 5

Reese sat on the edge of the bed and gave his left hand to Megan Tillman. He was shirtless, while she examined his left arm.

"John, grip my hand."

Mechanically he closed his fingers, the pinkie creaking shut like a rusty gate.

He had grip, and plenty of it, but the response time from his ring finger and pinkie to her request was a little off. Megan examined her handiwork, it had barely been a week, his elbow and shoulder were still inflamed, but there was cause for concern. John was not the type to be soothed with platitudes, he would want an honest answer.

She wished she could protect him from that.

"There _is_ nerve damage." He was quiet and softly-spoken, gentle with her the way he had been from the first moment they met, although she had absolutely no doubt of his lethal strength.

She could hear it in his voice, _worry_, and since worry would not help the situation at all, she straightened her back, and dug deep for an answer.

"Possibly. However, we're not giving in yet. I want you to do everything I say to give your arm the best chance of recovery." The blue-gray eyes looked up into hers with such hope she almost wished she hadn't tried to be so upbeat.

She had brought supplies with her, and now she turned her attention to the brace, slipped it onto his arm, closing the wide Velcro straps. "I want you to wear this everywhere except in bed. Get your colleague to help you with the physio exercises I gave you. Rest your arm as much as possible." She pulled the sling out of her bag, he scowled rolling his eyes, then nodded when she refused to back down.

He slid his shirt back on, and she helped him put the sling on, get his arm settled comfortably. He disliked the restraint that the sling represented, but he feared compromising his recovery time. The numbers did not just stop coming because Reese was sidelined. Ever since Root, and the battle to find Harold, John Reese realized that he didn't want to be without the reclusive billionaire, and his avowed intent to help the irrelevents. He liked his life now.

He had a purpose.

He tried to concentrate on the positives, his arm would recover, and Finch would do everything humanly possible and throw any amount of money at the problem to ensure that Reese kept on ticking.

The job might have been really risky, but the benefits were worth it. He could look at himself in the mirror for the first time in years and know that what he was doing was right and just.

Megan gently put her hand on Reese's arm. "John, try not to worry. Rest and support should do it." She looked up at him and was rewarded by one of his rare and beautiful smiles.

He was one of the most attractive and decent men she had ever met, a little pang of jealousy in her heart stung, but she'd seen him with Carter, seen the way they touched, heard his voice calling out for Joss. They belonged together.

She took her leave then. Before she made a fool of herself. Leaving John to a strict regime of rest and care.

* * *

Tonight was the night, and Reese had no intention of turning up to his first real date with Joss with his arm in a sling. He showered and changed, putting on the suit that Finch had fitted for him to enter the bear pit of Wall Street, his crisp white shirt a new purchase and a wickedly expensive one, new cufflinks to go with it. Satisfied with his appearance he put on his jacket and black coat. He had taken off the sling, but kept the brace on, the cufflink just allowing enough room in his sleeve to accommodate the brace.

Normally his appearance mattered little to him beyond the needs of the job he was undertaking, and the basics of decency and appropriateness. But this time he checked himself out in the mirror as he passed. He wanted to look good for Joss.

Quite why he chose to go via the Library, he couldn't have said. But Finch's seal of approval on his clothes seemed right for the occasion.

Finch was less happy about the lack of sling supporting his left arm. And said as much.

"Finch, it's just dinner, I'll be careful." Reese rolled his eyes.

Harold pursed his lips in that way he had when he was irritated by Reese's refusal to take better care of himself. "I suppose." He said grudgingly.

Reese didn't comment about that. Harold was only deeply concerned for his well-being, as he was about Harold. Their expressions of concern were taken as read. It had been a very long time since anyone had been even slightly concerned about John Reese's health. He was still getting used to the idea that anyone would care.

* * *

He would meet Joss at the restaurant, which was an easy walk from the Library, he shoved his left hand in his pocket hoping to take the strain off his shoulder.

Joss arrived moments after he did. She was wearing a dress, a dusty rose silk dress that complimented her skin perfectly, and enhanced her curves in a manner that caused Reese to swallow hard a couple of times before he could make a coherent statement.

The restaurant was small, intimate and the perfect romantic setting, Joss wondered if Finch had chosen it, or John himself. Deciding it would be unlikely that Finch would choose a romantic place for their first date, she felt it was all John.

She hadn't seen him for several days, since he had started to heal, and she had to go back to work, so she studied him closely. On the surface he seemed fully recovered.

They ordered, and chatted while they waited for their first course, he flirted outrageously, made her laugh, but all the time she could feel there was something. Something that made him seem more subdued than usual. Nothing that she could put her finger on.

Their first course arrived. Oysters. She watched him reach for the fork, his left hand, the movements jerky and a bit slow and suddenly she knew. It hit her like slamming into a brick wall.

She wanted to cry then, for what she had caused, for the pain he had suffered and was going to continue to suffer. "John."

He looked up at her, frustration and embarrassment written on his face, until he processed the stricken look on hers. He shook his head, "no… it's going to be fine."

"John, your arm." He knew he hadn't fooled her, and the doubts came flooding back, _what if the damage was permanent and he couldn't be as fast or as fluid in handling his many weapons_.

She saw the change come over him then, watched the light go out of his eyes, and realized yet another mistake that was going to cost him dearly in pain and anguish.

_Not this time_.

Their table was in a tiny booth, semi-circular seat, curtains for privacy. Everything a romantic diner a deux should be. Joss moved her bag to her other side and slid up close and personal next to John.

For a moment he looked confused.

"Hi." She said, taking the fork out of his hand. His eyes locked with hers, and comprehension dawned.

"Hi." He whispered, as she held the fork with the oyster neatly speared on it out invitingly. Her eyes were warm and teasing, with a softness in their depths that took his breath away, he curved his tongue around the oyster and nipped it from the fork.

Two could definitely play at that game.

By the time the main course arrived, John Reese had decided he could get used to this. His left arm was resting comfortably in his lap, Joss squished up so close that his elbow and shoulder were still supported. It didn't even bother him that Joss was cutting up his food for him.

The fresh fruit for dessert afforded more opportunities to get closer still, John picked a juicy strawberry out of the bowl and held it out for Joss. Her tongue flicked delicately over his thumb as she took a bite out of the soft fruit, the juice ran down her chin and he could not resist. His lips met hers, gently at first then with increasing ardour. It was time to take this somewhere else.

"Your place or mine." He muttered between sensual butterfly kisses pressed to her lips, her face, her throat.

She murmured something incoherent as he signaled for the check. He paid, and she helped him on with his coats, and they walked out together. He knew he was going to take her home with him.


	6. Chapter 6

John eased back on the bed, and watched Joss through the veil of his eyelashes. She had helped him undress, item by item, kisses between, insisted that he put the sling back on, plumped pillows and stuck them behind him so his injured shoulder and arm would be supported.

For a moment he thought she was going to tuck him in and leave.

But then she peeled one strap of her dress down. Slowly… oh so damn slowly.

The striptease was slow and sensuous, and the grin on his face was ear to ear as he admired her perfect body. Curves in all the right places, soft yet firm, the gorgeousness of her mocha skin. He wanted to possess it, his body responding in the most primeval way to her teasing, until she crawled across the bed towards him.

He reached out with his good arm, hauling her up close and personal. "Patience" she whispered against his lips, in between kisses, a little sucking nip on his lower lip elicting a moan from deep within him.

He wanted to hold her then, with both hands, tried to slip his arm from the sling that supported it, the pain radiating from his shoulder said no, but it was Joss's hands on his poor abused arm that stopped him.

She kissed him deeply, lovingly, "no John," she whispered. "Let me take care of you… love you…" Her fingers were gentle and driving him crazy as she explored his body.

His good arm crushed her up against him, as he captured her lips again, letting her feel how ready he was. Her answering gasp and moan nearly drove him over the edge. "If you let me love you, I think I could give up breathing." He whispered, planting kisses over her neck relishing her skin against his as they lost themselves in the passion of the moment.

When they were done, he didn't want to let go of her. His good arm wrapped firmly around her, face buried in her neck. She pulled back a little then, and realized when something hot and wet splashed down on her skin that he was still caught up in the emotions. She held on tight, wrapping her arms around him, one hand stroking the back of his head. Soothing him.

He fell asleep holding her, guarding her jealously with his body. She should have gone, she had work in the morning, but he needed her and she realized that she needed him too. Whatever this was, it was real and true.

His injured arm was squashed between them, and her fingers caressed his shoulder and down to his elbow, cradling the limb gently. Her hand cupped his elbow, the little flash movie in her memory replaying the moment the goon shoved a needle through it. The agony in his blue-gray eyes, though he tried to mask it, like biting down on the gag in his mouth to keep from screaming his torment. Protecting her. He wasn't paid to protect, nor was it from some sense of duty. He did it from the heart. He believed in second chances.

She reached down then and pulled the quilt up over their entwined bodies. Eased her thigh over his hip to mould him more closely to her. His cheek resting against her collarbone, she turned her head slightly so that she could rest her cheek against the top of his head, gathered him into her. He felt so right in her arms. As though he belonged there. Casually she wondered if she could give up work, move in to this bed with her guy in the suit, and never have need for clothes again.

Although she had to admit there were some wonderful compensations to John in a suit. Not the least the view. But it was John himself. Even when she was struggling to understand, the vigilante stuff, even in the moment that she made the mistake of her life, trusted someone because they were on the side of law and order and that was her world, and he paid so very dearly for her trust and faith. Even then, she knew his heart was pure.

She remembered then the stories that the old veterans used to tell her. Of wartime, and cities destroyed by bombs, and how beauty grew out of the ruins and the bloodshed, the poppy… enduring symbol of war and remembrance. John had been through all that himself, he had done his duty like a good soldier. War and terror had marked him, but his heart still grew pure and strong.

He had walked into hellfire to save her son.

She had been too emotional then to recognize that gesture for what it was really saying to her. Too terrified to see more than Taylor. But her mind had processed the look on his face, a little pride that he'd pleased her, a great deal of pleasure that he had saved Taylor and something that looked very like longing. He looked wistful.

And that was what they were doing now, belonging. She hugged him to her even more tightly, wishing that the night would never end.

* * *

They had fallen into a pattern, getting to know each other. Courting if you could call it that. Whether they were at his or her place, his response was the same, he would fall asleep holding her as though she was the most precious thing in the universe.

The one thing they avoided talking about, his arm, and Joss was starting to worry. At first he toughed it out, he wasn't following Dr Tillman's directions. Things came to a head when he made two coffees, turned to hand Joss hers and the mug slipped from his grasp. Joss was more concerned as to whether he had burnt himself or not, than when he crouched down to pick up the broken pieces. She watched them slip through his fingers and realized that the problem was a bit more serious than a strain. His hand closed around the pieces and he finally managed to pick them up.

She stopped dead in her tracks. She knew there was something that no one had told her. But the evidence of what her naivety had done made her sick to her stomach.

After the coffee mug incident, John was subdued, he used the sling and seemed reluctant to try using his hand and arm.

Joss was at a loss to work out how to help him.


	7. Chapter 7

Joss Carter was normally a woman of instant decision. She made tough choices every day. She raised a son on her own. She knew about decision.

Faced with John's obviously not-improving condition, she found herself unable to make any form of choice. Nothing seemed to help, and she hated seeing him suffer. So she found herself turning to Megan Tillman for advice.

It felt awkward, but Joss brushed that aside. This was for the good of the man who had saved her life, assured her that she was not alone, and then snatched her son from the jaws of death to deliver him safely back to her. This was snatching John back from the jaws of defeat.

So she explained to the doctor the nature of the problem. Megan sat back and studied the detective for a moment. Joss shifted a little under the scrutiny.

"Can I ask you a question, Detective?"

Joss nodded.

Megan looked at her for a long moment, "Have you been able to forgive yourself?"

Joss was taken aback. Forgive herself. The concept seemed alien. She had naively trusted and John was tortured because of it. He never would have been tortured if she wasn't with him, nor received the wounds that had become infected. His injured arm was her fault.

Megan smiled. "John's a big boy, he can take care of himself. He can take care of you, if you let him. You need to get past your own role in this, because what happened might have been inevitable. You cannot just decide to assume responsibility for it."

She looked down at her hands. "John once took responsibility for something that I wanted to do so badly for so long. And he was right. I had to let go of my part in something that I had no control over."

Joss nodded. "I see."

"Let him in Joss. Let John be what he so desperately needs to be. It's not about denying that you're a strong capable woman, it's about letting him do what he's hard-wired to do."

Insight was a precious thing, Joss thought. Thanking Megan, she left.

* * *

Insight may well have been precious, but putting it into practice was not going to be so easy. Carter had her doubts. John was a very private person, and damaged by his experiences. He was not just going to drop his defenses because she needed him to. Tricking him was out of the question. If he found out about it, given their history, he would never trust her again.

They were at her place, and Joss was on her forty-eight, so there was time. She had promised Taylor that the three of them would spend some quality time the next day, so she had all the time in the world.

Yeah.

Right.

All the time in the world to gently break through John's natural reserve, and repair damage that had begun years before Joss was even aware of the existence of her guy in the suit.

She was making chili, mild but still a little spicy, crunchy salad, tacos, and John was laying the table. Slightly awkwardly. That was probably the worst part. He might be ambidextrous, but he was left-hand dominant, he wrote with his left and this was killing him emotionally.

His arm was still in the sling. She noticed the way the dark material was pulled around his forearm, she could see that most of his hand was hidden back inside the thing, just his fingers protruding. His forearm curved close into his body. Almost as though he was ashamed of the limb.

She even noticed how suddenly he favored black, dark gray and navy shirts instead of the bright white linen that had become something of a trademark for him. All to camouflage the arm and the sling he deemed so shameful but was unable to part with.

Part of her wanted to switch the stove off, whisk him away to bed and hold onto him so he never had to face another demon as long as he lived.

_Way to go, Joss. John is not a Disney Princess in need of rescue. He's a brave and intelligent soldier who needs a way out of this mess_. Joss rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. Besides. If he didn't meet her at least halfway on this they were going nowhere fast.

Sure she could coax him, but he had to take the steps.

Getting him out of his clothes, so he was less able to take flight was the beginning of the plan. Not precisely a trick, but not exactly not a trick either. She hoped fervently that he would forgive her for that part. This had to be the whole package. She could talk the hind leg off a donkey if she had to, but she needed him as close physically as she could get him.

Dinner was a little stilted, but Joss worked to calm him, realizing that the day she had first met him, disheveled, stinking of cheap liquor and several other, more personal, hygiene issues she had been trying to get a result. Not really thinking of the man in front of her. In the months since, learning more about him, she still hadn't thought that much about the man behind the actions. Even after he was shot.

Perhaps that was why she had screwed up so badly and gotten him into this situation. Realising what Megan had said was also true, for whatever reason, John Reese was hard-wired to protect her, may be even love her. The kindest thing she could do for him would be to let him do what his noble soul demanded. Protect her.

Not that she was a Disney Princess either.

He followed her to her bed readily enough, and for a while she was content to lose herself in John's kisses.

She trailed her lips down, across his jaw, down his neck, the hitches in his breathing and the little noises from deep in his throat encouraging her. Across his throat down past his collarbones to the enticing v presented by his unbuttoned shirt. She savoured that moment, as her fingers slid to pop the first button free of its buttonhole.

He seemed content to stand and let her do whatever she wanted, and that was key, his right hand restlessly roamed her body.

It was a matter of a few seconds to unbutton his shirt and push it open. Now came the slightly tricky part, getting him out of his shirt and the sling supporting his arm. She traced her tongue over his right nipple, heard his gasp, moved to his left, her fingers calmly reaching for the straps of the sling as she teased with her tongue and teeth. He didn't try and stop her, as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and the sling with it.

She took his hand then, tugging him closer so that his left arm curved around her. He was letting her lead, and she knew she would never have a better opportunity.

Almost holding her breath, Joss put her hand on his elbow, held his eyes with hers. "I'm sorry I didn't think." She whispered, "forgive me?"

He could not mistake what she was saying, "you know I do." The words catching in his throat. The look in his eyes nearly broke her apart.

Her hand feathered slowly up his arm to his shoulder. "Then maybe you ought to forgive yourself too."

His breath hitched again, but his arms closed around her tightly. She could feel the stiffness in his left arm, but his lips came down on hers, she could feel wetness on her cheeks, as his lips and tongue tasted hers, she closed her eyes and gave him everything in return.


End file.
